She shook his hand off, and rising of a sudden, confronted me with a blazing face.
"And you!" she cried bitterly—"you could listen to such talk—ay, like your servant!" And she swept out of the room before either her husband or myself could find a word to say.
Indeed, though I had not thought of the matter in that light before, I considered her accusation of the justest, and the sound of her sobbing remained in my ears, tingling me to pity of the woman and a sore indignation against the husband. It was for myself I should have felt that indignation I knew well, but I am relating what occurred, and—well, maybe I paid for the offence heavily enough.
"Mr. Herbert," said I, rising, with as much calmness as I could command, "I will not trouble you to continue the work."
"But the portrait!" he exclaimed, almost in alarm. "It is my best work!" And he stood a little aloof gazing at it.
"The portrait!" I cried, in a fury at his insensibility—"the portrait may go hang!"
"On the walls of Blackladies?" he asked, with a quick sneer.
"Oh," said I slowly, "you gossiped to some purpose with my steward, it appears."
He stood confused and silent I went into the room where it was my habit to change my dress, and left him. But when I came out I found him standing in the passage with a lighted candle in his hand, though it was broad noonday. Doubtless I looked my surprise at him.
"An ill-lighted staircase, Mr. Clavering, is the devil," he remarked; and with a sardonic deference he preceded me to the street.